A Moment of Weakness
by storylover18
Summary: Mycroft, watching Sherlock go through detox through a one-way window, is reminded of a time when he gave seven year old Sherlock some advice on facing people insistent on breaking him. Only now he's the one doing the breaking. No slash. Minor warnings for mentions of drug use and bullying.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**Hi everyone! It feels incredible to finally be posting again. School has commanded my life for the past couple of months and I've been so busy! Now, however, I have two weeks holiday and plan to do some writing. Here's a piece I wrote after an RPG with **_**Cumberbatch Critter**_** (thanks for the idea!). I hope you enjoy it!**

Mycroft stood behind the door, peering through the one-way glass window. The doctor, two orderlies, and a large, male nurse had just walked into the room, one of the orderlies holding a pair of wrist restraints.

Sherlock instinctively knew what was coming and he put himself into a corner of the hospital room. This was the second time Sherlock had been placed in an addiction treatment facility and it was brutal. Mycroft and Sherlock both knew of the horrors that happened in the barren hospital room.

The sweats, the hallucinations, the withdrawal; it was awful to watch, much less experience.

The doctors insisted on giving Sherlock medication to aid in the process but Sherlock adamantly refused. When he was sober enough to comprehend what was happening – especially in a mood where he _wanted_ to get clean – he refused them on the basis of having to do this by himself. Drugs got him into this mess and he claimed that drugs would not get him out it.

Once in detox, however, the hallucinations often drove him to the edge and he became physically violent. The hospital room suddenly became a room on the psych ward, the "rubber walled room," Sherlock referred to it as. He was locked in an eight by ten room with only his bed and drip pole. Any time he needed to use the toilet, he had to ask a nurse who would enter the nine-digit combination code into the door and escort him to the loo.

Sherlock was experiencing violent hallucinations at the moment, so much so that he'd ripped the drip from his hand and was now huddled in the corner of the room, screaming at these people to go away. The doctors had asked Mycroft what to do and Mycroft told them to give Sherlock the medicine and restrain him.

* * *

"Don't!" Seven year old Sherlock's voice exclaimed. "Stop it!"

Sherlock was alone in the science room, his project proudly set up for the science fair that afternoon. It was lunch time, meaning that all the pupils and teachers were out in the yard but Sherlock had gotten permission to fix a few things on his project before the fair.

A group of boys whom were notorious for being bullies had entered the room, surrounding Sherlock and his water-wind-electricity project. One of them, a particularly fat boy named Damon who two years younger than Mycroft, stepped up and was flicking the wind turbine.

"Stop!" Sherlock said. "You'll break it."

"Hear that?" Damon taunted the other boys. "He says I'll break it. What if I do this?"

He began flicking water at Sherlock from the lake in the diorama.

"Stop!" Sherlock shrieked. "Stop it, or else I'll - "

"Or else you'll do what?" Damon asked, sounding highly amused.

"I'll … I'll … I'll …" Sherlock stammered and Damon smirked.

"You'll do nothing." He spat. "You're useless. You're a freak kid who's always right."

Damon turned to his friends.

"Let's say we perform an act of community service," he said. "And give us /older/ kids a chance to win the science fair. There's no need for this little twerp to always win. He's only five."

"I'm seven!" Sherlock said, though no one was listening. Damon turned back to the project.

"Oops," he said, breaking the wind turbine off its platform. "I'm sorry, my hand slipped."

"So did mine," another of the boys said, picking up scissors and cutting one of the wires that made the demonstration work.

"Same." The third boy ripped the water wheel from the canal in which it sat.

"Stop it!" Sherlock bellowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Leave me alone!"

Damon wasn't done. He cupped his hands in the water and threw it at Sherlock – first in the face, and then on his trousers.

"Did little Sherlock have an accident?" he asked in a baby voice before laughing. "Come on, guys. We have more important things to spend our time on."

They turned to leave the classroom.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, running after them. He jumped onto one of their backs, falling to the ground immediately. The boys laughed before leaving the room, and leaving Sherlock on the ground, crying.

Mycroft was strolling down the halls responsibly throughout the lunch hour, looking for troublemakers and students who were not where they were supposed to be. He heard someone sobbing – he didn't pick up that it was Sherlock – and stopped in the darkened classroom. He flicked the light on and gasped.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, seeing his little brother with a tear stained face, wet hair and trousers, trying to fix his project. Sherlock turned around, his lower lip quivering.

"Sherlock, what happened?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Sherlock? Tell me who did this."

Sherlock was fiddling with the water wheel in his hands.

"Damon and his friends." He said in a tiny voice and Mycroft sighed.

"What did they do?"

Sherlock looked into Mycroft's face, his tears overflowing.

"They said I was always winning and they were going to perform commutable service and wreck my project so someone else could win."

"So they broke it?"

"Uh-huh," Sherlock sobbed. "And dumped water all over my trousers to make it look like I had an accident."

Mycroft frowned.

"They called me a freak."

Mycroft knelt next to Sherlock.

"Listen to me," he said. "They're wrong. You're a Holmes, you're brilliant. They're just upset because they were getting showed up by a seven year old. Don't ever let someone treat you like that, Sherlock. Don't let them do what they want to you. People will try all your life but never, ever give in."

Mycroft looked at the broken project and sighed, standing.

"Come on," he said, taking Sherlock by the hand. "Let's go find your teacher and explained what happened. I'll make sure you don't get penalized and they get disciplined."

Sherlock sniffed.

"But I won't win the science fair," he said, trailing after Mycroft.

* * *

Those words – "don't let them do what they want to you. People will try all your life but never, ever give in" – were echoing in Mycroft's mind as he watched the orderlies force his brother back to bed.

He gave an imperceptible sigh as the nurse inserted the needled into Sherlock's arm and he watched his brother become limp and the drip was reinserted and taped firmly. They were tears streaming down Sherlock's cheeks, emotions he couldn't control, and his wrists were tightly bound to the bed. Sherlock hated wrist restraints.

The image of the scared, crying, wet-trousered seven year old Sherlock came shining through. But this time Mycroft had ordered the project be ripped apart. He was no better than Damon had been all those years ago.

He'd broken Sherlock after telling his brother to never allow himself to be broken.

Despite knowing that good would come from this – Sherlock would be clean – Mycroft felt an overwhelming sense of shame for his brutal actions intended to help his brother. With another sigh, Mycroft turned from the window and walked down the hallway of the hospital.

**Reviews are always appreciated, thanks! **


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